


A Day of Reckoning

by seductivembrace



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during "Not Fade Away". It’s four against hundreds, maybe thousands. Angel has signed away his shanshu and knows that tonight will most likely be his last night alive. A selfless sacrifice is what he has planned - just the thing to gain the Powers’ attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day of Reckoning

_“You have endured the required trials.”_

_“Bloody right I have,” Spike muttered weakly. “So, you give me what I want. Make me what I was... so Buffy can get what she deserves.”_

_“Very well. We will return your soul.”_  

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike barely felt the rain as he stared at the entrance to the alley where every imaginable type of demon slowly stalked their way, armed to the nines and ready to bring hell on earth. Overhead, the dragon Angel had laid claim to batted its wings, causing a gush of cool wind to rush over his face.  

The muted din gave way to a deafening roar as various battle cries were bellowed by their opponents.  

Spike had but a moment to wonder how long Charlie would survive the initial swarm, whether Angel would indeed get to battle the dragon, and what mojo the blue demigod had left to wield before they were besieged by the first wave of angry demons. 

His sword easily deflected a Fyarl’s first strike, then Spike spun, his body flowing with the attack so that the demon stumbled forward and presented its unguarded back to him. A downward arc of gleaming steel, and he’d separated head from grotesque body, and the first of what appeared to be thousands more was down. 

After that, it was an endless sea of demons, and he and the others fought until arms went numb. Then they fought on adrenaline, and a driving need to survive.  

Charlie didn’t last long – though it was longer than the ten minutes Illyria had predicted. He died a hero, taking the sword meant for Spike’s head. Spike wasn’t given a moment to mourn the man’s passing before two and then three more demons filled the hole. 

More time passed.  

Spike had long since given up figuring out where Angel was. He knew only that the vamp wasn’t dead yet; the telltale signal of one of his own passing had yet to cast its gloomy pall. Illyria was still relatively close, no more than ten feet away from him. She was still kicking ass and taking names, eager to exact revenge on Wesley’s behalf, though she didn’t know why.  

His arms were getting weaker by the second, barely able to hold the sword up to defend himself and Spike knew that it was only a matter of time before he met his own dusty end. He was surprised that he’d lasted as long as he had, especially given their ridiculously uneven odds. Four against thousands did not make for a win for the good guys. 

Or so he thought until the sky abruptly cleared and the alley was flooded with unnatural light much brighter than the moon’s pale cast. The heavens themselves seemed to open up and unleash their fury. A bright beam, much like that of the amulet Spike had worn in the Hellmouth, cut through the masses, obliterating hundreds of demons in seconds. A strong gust of wind rushed down over his head and Spike looked up to see Angel on the back of the dragon. Watched as he plunged his sword through its back. An anguished bellow and then it was falling, plummeting at increasing speed towards the pile of demon debris. 

For one horrifying second, Spike could only watch as his sire – not the souled up version, but the one locked away inside a cage – fell with the beast.  

“Angelus!” Spike may have screamed. He wasn’t sure.  

Then his vision was affected by the blinding light making it impossible to see anything. His ears rang with the scream of demons, overwhelming in their intensity. Until he was forced to squat down against a wall, hands covering his ears to block out the noise.  

Finally, unable to withstand the assault on his senses any longer, Spike blacked out. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Angel jumped free of the dragon and managed to fall onto the fire escape stairwell rather than crash into the pile of scattered body parts and ash. He received a broken leg for his trouble, but nothing that a quick jerk to put it back into position and a pint or two of blood wouldn’t fix.  

His eyes scanned the alley and he noticed Illyria kicking up various piles of debris, looking for anything that hadn’t been done in by the mysterious burst of light. Gunn’s body was scattered in among demon remains – those that had been taken down before what could only have been the Powers’ intervention.  

_‘Bout time._  

Angel was relieved to see – or his demon was, anyway – Spike slumped against a wall, apparently passed out. But still relatively alive. Or undusted.  

His snarky childe had more lives than a cat. 

Angel smiled at the thought and bent over to realign his leg. Bit back a groan as he reset the bone.  

And promptly screamed in agony. 

“No!” he cried, recognizing the pain for what it was. His soul. “Oh god. No…”  

_The Shanshu._  

A bright light, a feeling of welcome – of _home_ – greeted him then, and Angel’s soul gladly gave up the body to the demon left behind. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike was tired when he first woke, but his utter exhaustion paled in comparison to the feeling of contentment experienced by his demon. He hummed his pleasure as cool fingers traced up along his leg and over his ass.  

“Mmmm…” he purred happily and arched into the tender caress.  

The amused chuckle did much to bring him back to some semblance of consciousness, but it was his name being called – William, as opposed to Spike – in just such a way, that had him stiffening on what he now recognized as a bed beneath his battered body. His battered _naked_ body.  

“Relax, boy. I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not unless you ask me to,” Angelus added as an afterthought.  

The mattress dipped as Angelus sat down on the edge near his hip, and Spike bit off a moan as one hand became two on his back. It had been so long since he’d been touched in this manner, by strong hands that knew just where and how to rub, scratch, claw, and pet to bring him to a fevered pitch.  

“Angelus,” Spike whined, determinedly ignoring his soul’s inner voice that told him that this was wrong.  

This was his sire… his teacher and mentor. The vampire that had molded Spike into the demon he’d become. Spike knew it, his demon knew it. And there was no way in the world he’d be able to find it within him to make Angelus stop.  

Not now. Probably not ever.  

“Been wanting to do this for a long time,” Angelus murmured next to Spike’s ear as he stretched out alongside him. “The Soul wouldn’t let me though. Knew it would be as good as letting me back out to play.” 

“Sire…” 

“Missed you, boy. Missed this,” he added as he slipped a finger between pale ass cheeks and rubbed back and forth along Spike’s hole. “Was too crazy the last time I came back to do what I should have done. Goddamn gypsies. Remind me to never eat another one of them again.” 

Spike muttered what could have passed for an agreement into the pillow, but it was choked off when he was suddenly breeched. He hissed as one dry finger slid in as far as it would go. Nearly came up off the bed as it rotated and brushed over his prostate.

“Angelus!” 

“Sorry, boyo,” Angelus told him, his voice slipping into that of his Irish brogue. “Been too long to prepare you proper. Gotta have you now.” 

Spike felt the give and take of the mattress again as Angelus settled himself between his parted legs. Let himself be drawn to all fours. A nudge at his ass was all the warning he got before Angelus slammed his way home and reclaimed him good and proper.  

“God, you’re tight. Smartest decision Dru ever made, turning you as a virgin,” Angelus ground out as he slowly withdrew only to ram his way home again, his entry made easier this time by having spilt his childe’s blood. 

Not that Spike was complaining in the least, eagerly lifting his hips into his sire’s thrusts. His demon reveled in being taken. Possessed. Claimed. He just barely managed to refrain from shouting more, and harder, and worst of all… please.  

It was bad enough he was allowing this – whatever _it_ was – to happen. Part of Spike was scared that at any moment, he’d see a return of the crazed demon that had called himself his sire. Ready to resume his deranged plan to bring hell to earth. Caring not of the severe consequences his actions would cause.  

Then there was his own soul, fought for and won – even if it hadn’t quite been what Spike had in mind at the time. If Angelus were to find out… 

Spike went willingly as he was pulled upright so that his back was pressed up against Angelus’ chest. A hand found its way to his cock and began stroking it with a harsh grip. Spike could feel his body tense in preparation of his sire’s bite, knowing the demon wouldn’t be happy with anything less than Spike’s total surrender. 

He came the instant he felt fangs slice into the barely discernible marks on his neck. Cried out some unintelligible nonsense as the fist on his cock milked every bit of spunk he seemed to possess. A guttural “mine” growled possessively against his throat and he felt his sire’s own cool release splash against his insides.  

Spike gave himself one moment to enjoy being reclaimed by his sire with fangs and cock. A moment that, had his soul been secured in any other means than the trials he’d gone through, would have caused it to float away, back into the ether. 

It was his deepest desire to belong to someone. In the absence of his true sire, and later Drusilla, the chip had enabled him to latch onto the Slayer’s gang, his demon instinctively seeking the strongest of the bunch – the Slayer – to place its affection. After Sunnydale and his subsequent resurrection, that need to be a part of someone, of some _thing_ , had him clinging to the souled up version of his sire and his small band of human pets. If he was snarkier than normal towards Angel, well, that was because his demon knew deep down that Angel was just a pale imitation. A substitute for what he secretly craved.  

Spike felt himself lowered down onto the bed once more. Felt his sire’s much larger frame stretch out on top of him.  

The unfairness of it all struck Spike suddenly; he could feel tears well up behind closed eyelids, the salty tang sure to alert his sire, but unable to be prevented.  

“Well, I see fucking it out of you is no’ gonna work,” Angelus grumbled ruefully. “Want to tell me what’s going on, Childe.” 

His sire’s tone brooked no argument and Spike sighed as Angelus shifted off him and settled by his side. He didn’t move, didn’t bother to turn over and face the condemnation he knew would be in deep brown eyes. He shrunk in on himself, feeling tainted somehow – and wasn’t that a bloody riot – as he told Angelus of the trials he’d suffered through.  

“Wanted the bloody chip out of my head. Got a soul shoved down my throat instead. Shoulda’ known the deck was stacked against me.” 

“What did you say… exactly?” 

_“So, you give me what I want. Make me what I was... so Buffy can get what she deserves.”_

Angelus mulled that bit of information over for a minute. Undead for over two hundred years and he’d yet to really go up against a slayer. Unlike his impetuous childe, he had tended to avoid them.  

Until Buffy.  

He’d gone about things all wrong with the girl, Angelus realized that now. If he’d killed the Slayer straight off, rather than spending all that time toying with her friends, he would have had his boy back a long time ago, and unencumbered as he now was. 

He couldn’t do anything about the second bit, but he could remedy the first. And doing away with the Immortal’s latest plaything would be the proverbial feather in his cap; he owed the sanctimonious asshole for encroaching on his family. 

“Time for a road trip, boyo.” 

Angelus had his childe trussed up before he could react. Knowing instinctively that Spike would put up a fight if he revealed his plans for the Slayer. 

The damn soul would practically demand it. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Angelus stared down at his childe, arms and legs secured to the four corners of the bed with sturdy rope. He smirked at the cock that lay hard and heavy against Spike’s stomach. His boy looked damned fuckable trussed up like he was. But the icing on the cake was the evil gleam shining out of deep blue eyes. 

“You gonna stare at me all night, or do something about this,” Spike snarked as he wiggled his hips enticingly. 

Angelus lifted one sardonic brow; his lips stretched into a wide grin.  

“Ah, Will, always an impatient lad…” 

“You know you love it.” 

Very true, but Spike didn’t need to know that. He’d never be able to live with him otherwise.  

Angelus moved away from the bed and stared out the window, ignoring his childe’s mumbled curses to “bloody well get on with it already.” 

Paris at night hadn’t changed all that much since he’d visited it last, over a hundred years ago. They’d come here to disappear, and the French city, with a population of over two million, was the most likely place to visit after Rome. With both the Council and the Immortal’s goons gunning for him after he’d killed the Slayer, Angelus had decided a strategic retreat was in order. 

He’d been treated with a nice surprise on returning to their hotel room to see Spike restored to his former self, the demon in him no longer burdened with a soul. Something to do with Buffy finally getting what she deserved – at least according to Spike – had fulfilled his wish and the soul had miraculously disappeared; it having only been needed to bring about the instances of Angelus’ return and him doing away with the girl. A long and torturous journey, to be sure, but it had been explained that Spike bearing the soul for as long as he had was all part of the process to get his reward.

Angelus had snorted at the demon’s reasoning, but in the end, hadn’t cared. He had Spike back, really back, and that was all that had mattered to him.  

Needless to say, their departure had been pushed back several hours after that explanation as he’d reclaimed his childe. Spike had been most vocal in his acceptance, completing the blood bond at his insistence.  

The sting of his childe’s fangs was something he’d not thought he’d ever feel again. Their reunion had been marked with blood and sex, and this time, this time, Will’s cries of “more” and “yes,” and “harder, sire, please” were music to Angelus’ ears. 

It was only as they lay spent on the tattered sheets, Spike curled up against Angelus’ side, that his childe had spoken. And for once, Angelus had listened, eager to hear what thoughts occupied his boy’s mind.  

“Never wanted him like I do you. But you were in there, ya know? It was _you_ I saw whenever he’d stare at me with contempt. He was always ashamed of me, hating that he’d—” 

“Not ashamed of you,” Angelus murmured in a rare show of affection. “I created you, molded you… made you mine.” 

“Yours,” Spike agreed quietly. 

Then the moment had been gone and Spike was once more his snarky self. Angelus had cuffed him on the head and told him to get dressed. That they were leaving town. Revenge was such a sticky business. 

Their journey had led them to Paris. Whose nightlife was just the thing for two unsouled vampires eager to get back into the swing of things.  

It made him hard just thinking about all the fun he and his childe could get into. Not end-of-the-world fun this time. Just the two of them together, roaming the globe, fucking and feeding to their heart’s content. 

Angelus turned away from the window and crossed the room back to the bed. Spike’s gaze, he noticed, was glued to his cock, how it bobbed slightly as he moved. 

“Need a hand with that, Sire?” 

“A hand, no,” Angelus replied as he straddled Spike’s chest. “A mouth, yes. Now be a good boy and open up.” 

Spike smirked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He licked his lips and opened wide. 

“Damn, you feel good,” Angelus groaned as he shoved his cock down Spike’s throat. Watched entranced as his flesh sank between parted lips, a look of sublime pleasure on Spike’s face. “Like that, do you…? Yeah, you do. Damn… feels… yeah… like that, Will. Suck it.” 

Spike did, and Angelus blamed his recently departed soul and his enforced celibacy for his lack of staying power. Then again, Spike was an expert cocksucker and knew just how to suck and tease, apply a little bit of fangs— 

Angelus came with a roar at the feel of razor-sharp teeth digging in to the base of his cock. Slumped forward against the headboard when he was spent. He was barely aware of the tongue laving gently at his softening prick, paying particular attention to the tiny holes that marred his flesh. When he could move without appearing shaken, Angelus shifted off and down, settling himself along Spike’s flank. 

Spike grinned smugly at the languorous vampire at his side. He still had it. When several minutes went by without any reciprocation on his sire’s part, Spike became impatient again.

“Oi, Sire!” he complained, attempting to nudge his dick against Angelus’ leg.  

“Patience, boy.” 

“Sod patience!” he growled, lifting his head off the pillow to glare at his sire. “I’m _hard_!” 

A hand reached out and wrapped around Spike’s cock, gave it a good squeeze and a languid pump. “That you are, boyo. That you are.” 

“Angelus…” 

“Patience,” Angelus said again. “All good things come to those that wait.” 

“Better bloody well be worth it,” Spike grumbled as his head flopped back against the pillow. Settled in to wait until his sire couldn’t stand it anymore and finally decided to screw him into the mattress.  

He’d give him twenty… thirty minutes, max.

The End


End file.
